Unexpected Consolation
by welchandsummers
Summary: Effie's pregnant with Seneca's little one. Stuff happens. There's Hayffie. You just have to get to it. Not one of my finest works. But rate and review away x


_A/N: Okay. I just would like to say I DO NOT SHIP EFFIE/SENECA. I kind of wrote this to play around with Effie's character because I've never written anything like her before. Therefore, this is awful. And sorry for the lack of Hayffie fluff. This is pre-74__th__._

_And another thing. I needed a supporting role to play Effie's friend, so I used the character Marie, who is actually an original character in a THG roleplay. Go follow her on tumblr: _

"Seneca…" I say, nudging his leg. I wait for a moment, but he doesn't wake. I repeat his name a bit louder this time. It's no use. He's out cold.

It's bad manners, barging into his apartment uninvited. Awful manners, really. But this is an emergency.

I got in my car as soon as I was sure about it. I had had my suspicions prior to today. I haven't been feeling my best. Marie noticed it too. She said she's worried about me. I lied and said I was fine, but of course she didn't believe me. Marie told me she'd keep a sharp eye on me.

Then earlier today, four little sticks confirmed my worries. And now, I'm standing up next to Seneca's couch, with him on it, sleeping like a child. I'm tired of standing and calling his name over and over and over again to no prevail.

So next thing I know I'm grabbing the collar of shirt roughly and calling his name a bit loudly than intended. He doesn't respond.

I'm about to do it all again when he stirs, opens his eyes, and stretches out his arms and legs. I've woken Seneca Crane.

Confusion and then recognition flickers across his eyes. He gets up and traps me in a hug. "Hey, Effie." Seneca plants a soft kiss on my cheek. "How'd you get in?"

I weakly return his hug. "Your door was unlocked," I say. "Try locking it next time."

"Figures." Seneca isn't troubled by the fact that at any moment he could have been robbed, or hurt, or even killed. He plops back down on the couch and gestures for me to sit beside him.

I remain standing. "Seneca, I need to talk to you," I tell him.

"Mmm…okay." He gets back up again abruptly, as if suddenly remembering something. Then he vanishes into the kitchen. "Hit me with it, babe," he calls. "You want something to drink?"

I'm thinking that doesn't sound too bad, to be honest. But then I snap myself out of it. _Remember why you're here, Effie._

"I'm pregnant."

I pause and wait for the worst, expecting foul language and arguing and screaming. But all I can hear is the clink of a glass and water splashing out of a faucet.

Is he angry? Disappointed? Upset? Is he as confused as I am? Does he want the child? Do I want the child?

My mind is whirlwind of questions and possibilities and doubts and I'm still soaking in the fact that there's a baby, a living being, growing inside of my body. So I don't notice when Seneca's back and propped up against the counter with a glass of water until he speaks.

"You're pregnant." Seneca's attitude is impossible to decipher. He calmly sips his water.

"Yes," I confirm. I don't dare take a single step in his direction. I'm too afraid of the outcome.

But he doesn't yell. He doesn't deny it. He doesn't show any emotion. "Okay," he finally says.

I want to scream at him, _"Okay? Okay? I'm pregnant with your damn child and all you can say is okay? Help! Do something!"_

But instead I watch as he sets his drink down on the counter, looks for something on the cluttered floor, and then slips on his shoes.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

He doesn't say anything. Just, to my surprise, drapes a coat around his shoulders and opens his front door.

"Seneca, where are you going?" I ask again.

This time he answers. "Out for a drink." His back is already to me when he says it. I catch a glimpse of the sky as he steps outside and shuts the door.

What? He left me? In his own apartment?

_Don't be so naive, Effie. He's just going out for some air. He'll be back soon._

No. No. No. He's left. He's not coming back.

_Calm down. Just watch and you'll see._

I'm still debating between the two possibilities when I just give in.

So all I do is curl up into a ball on Seneca's couch and cry.

Cry because I'm pregnant.

Cry because I'm alone.

Cry because Seneca left me when I needed him most.

I spend the next hour letting tears flow down onto me and another three sleeping. Sunlight pouring through the glass windows wakes me. I wipe dried tears off my skin and review my options as far as today goes.

One: Wait for Seneca to come home. He can't be gone forever. The Games start in a few weeks and he and the other Gamemakers have work to do.

Two: Go home. I could go home…and what? Cry some more? Never leave the house?

So I'm left with option number three: Go talk it out with somebody.

Marie first springs to mind. I've always been there for her when she's needed me, and I'm confident she'll help me out.

I think my circumstances have completely wiped out my sense of etiquette, because in an instant I'm dialing Marie's phone number, which I know by heart, on Seneca's phone.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four. Five. Six. It's somewhere around the thirty-ninth that tears begin pouring out once again.

Let's see. Who else would even pretend to care? I strain my brain trying to come up with someone, anyone, who could comfort me.

Finally, I find someone. But, oh, God, it's crazy.

District Twelve's very own Haymitch Abernathy.

I don't know why he comes to mind. To me, he's always been an alcoholic with horrendous manners. A mentor with more sarcastic comments than life-saving advice. But now, maybe I'm just so desperate and confused he seems to me to take on the role of comforter.

So I pull out that handy address book I always have with me in my purse and dial Haymitch's home in District Twelve's Victors' Village.

A flat, female voice tells me that number does not exist.

And then I recall, from last year's Games, Haymitch telling me he prefers moving into Twelve's penthouse in the Capitol early.

I hope and pray it has the same phone number. I dial, and it is almost immediately answered.

"Haymitch." The voice is dry and raspy and contains a bit of sarcasm, but it's definitely Haymitch's.

My voice cracks on the first word I choke out. "Hay – Haymitch?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Effie," I tell him. "Trinket." You can obviously tell I've been crying, but I hope he's drunk enough that he doesn't pick up on it.

Oh, he does. "You all right?" Haymitch asks.

I reply a bit too fast. "Yes." I add a girlish giggle to stress the fact that I'm completely, perfectly all right. But then I change my answer. "No. Not at all," I say honestly. "Can I…."

Haymitch answers before I ask, fully knowing my question. "Of course. Come on."

"Thank you," I answer, truly grateful. I smile to myself for the first time today.

"And…Effie?" he says, sounding concerned.

"Yeah?" I'm intrigued.

"See you soon." And he hangs up.

I'm disappointed that that's all he has to say for now, but it's a scraped knee compared to, well, the pregnancy.

Before I leave I go over to Seneca's mirror in his bedroom to make sure I'm decent. Ha. What a laugh I got at that. My mascara's run. My hair is a mess. My sundress is wrinkled. In other words, I look horrendous.

Think, think, think, Effie. I rummage through Seneca's bathroom drawers until I find the make-up kits I've kept in there for…what? Weeks now?

There's one thing about Seneca and I that I don't regret.

I brush the tangles out of my hair and smooth out my dress. For a pregnant woman who's been either sleeping or sobbing all day, I don't look half bad.

And, just for good measures, before I walk out and leave Seneca's door unlocked, I break his mirror.

_Ding!_

The elevator's sharp bell snaps me out of my daydreams. The doors slide open, and I'm forced out into the penthouse hall.

I don't want to do this. I don't want to go cry in Haymitch's presence. I can't give him one more thing about me to tease me about. So I promise myself I won't let the tears come.

I force myself to raise my knuckles to the penthouse door and knock. There's a pause and then the door is opening by an Avox with striking white skin and deep red hair. I show her my identification and she lets me in.

The entrance hall is the same. The living room is the same. The room halls are the same. So why do I feel so different here?

I don't go to the room the escort always sleeps in first. I'll come drop off my luggage another time. No, I go to the mentor's room.

The walls, unlike the mint shade in my room, are a light tint of blue. The bed has the same tacky, brown floral print as it does on mine. The room is reversed, with the closet and doors to the left and the bed and drawers to the right.

Haymitch's suitcase is wide-open on the carpet. I've already given up on common courtesy for the day, so why stop now? I walk over to it and bend down. The first thing that catches my eye is a little liquor bottle. No surprise there. I dig around in it a bit more until a voice stops my heart.

"Hey, Trinket." I spin around so fast I crick my neck to find that Haymitch is in the doorway. "Haven't you heard the saying? _Curiosity killed the escort._"

I can instantly feel the warmth in my cheeks and I can tell without looking that they've turned bright red. But that doesn't stop me from throwing my arms around him and burying my face deep in his button-down shirt. I think I've caught him by surprise, too, because doesn't hug me back immediately.

I'm so glad to see him, given everything that's happened in the last twelve hours. I know we've never been this friendly before but I don't let it show. "Hi," I gasp into his chest.

"Hey, sweetheart." It's then that he squeezes me to his body. "Wow. Uhh... Let's get you settled down, shall we?"

I nod into his shirt. Haymitch lifts me up and places me on his soft bed. "Now," he says, sitting beside me. "You wanna tell me why you're upset?"

I cross my legs and nod again. "I'm p – pregnant."

"Oh. Well. That's…." Haymitch lets his voice trail off.

"Yeah."

"It's Seneca's?"

My jaw falls open. How could he have known Seneca and I were seeing each other? I've only told Marie, and she'd never tell anyone, especially Haymitch. "How'd you know?"

He chuckles in a way that makes me want to strangle him. "Sweetheart, people in the _Seam_ know."

Warmth spreads up my cheeks again. "_How_, Haymitch?"

"Maybe a little _bird_ told them, Effie," Haymitch says. "It's painfully obvious."

I groan and bury my face in my hands, resisting the urge to spit out every foul word I know at him, though none of this is his fault, of course.

He moves closer to me and, to my utter surprise, puts his arm around me. It's the most comfort I've had all day, though, so I lean into his chest, tears building up again_. Damn it, Effie, don't you dare cry._

"It's okay," he mutters, running his hand up and down my back.

Taking a deep breath, I laugh coldly under my breath. "No, it isn't. He's left. I'm pregnant. I can't have a baby. I won't."

"It's fine, Effs, shh.."

His efforts to console me do no good. "No, it isn't! Nothing's fine! I'm…I'm pregnant! I don't want this child! And neither does he! He left me, Haymitch, he doesn't love me! He doesn't even care!" I shout into his shirt, louder than intended.

Haymitch sighs and stays silent for a moment, leaving me with feelings of guilt. "He'll come back," he whispers after a while.

"No," I whimper. "No he won't. I don't want him to." Tears are threatening to leak out of my eyes.

Instead of the comfort I came for, he kisses the top of my head, leaving me practically speechless. "Haymitch? Are you drunk?" I ask, immediately regretting it. It wasn't fair of me to assume. After all, liquor fumes aren't clinging to him as they usually do.

To my relief, he laughs lightly. "No. No, I'm not."

I grin as I just give in and let all my tears fall out. That's it. I'm going crazy.

"What're you gonna do?" he asks.

That's the first time I start to think Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk from District 12, may actually _care_ about me, a foolish woman from the Capitol with more shoes than sense.

I'm definitely going crazy.

"I - I don't know." I can't keep the baby and raise it, especially as a single mother. I'm still an escort. And I couldn't even _think_ of what the tabloids would say! The scandal would be outrageous. I don't even want to carry it to nine months. I lift my head up off of Haymitch and stare at the floor. "I want an abortion."

My words sink in as he slowly nods his head. "If that's what you want."

I look back up at him, sighing. "It is." No, it isn't. But it's the only logical, possible option.

"Okay," he mutters.

On a random impulse, I throw my arms around him, locking them around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder.

He returns my attempt at a hug, patting my back. "It'll be okay, sweetheart."

I don't repeat the denials I had earlier. Because I suppose Haymitch is right, for a nice change. Seneca's gone. I vow to myself to never speak to him again. Why should I? I needed him urgently. He left. And now I have Haymitch for consolation.

That is, until he picks up another bottle.


End file.
